Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

Everything in me wanted to stride over there, close the gap between us, and wrap her in my arms. I needed to comfort her, to kiss her hair, to stroke her back and tell her everything was going to be okay, that I was here for her and that I’d never leave her again. But my legs just weren’t moving. I stood stock-still, hidden from view by the gathering people, wondering what she would do if she saw me. Would it make it worse or better? If I strode over to her, covered in bruises, reeking of last night’s alcohol, with my opponent’s blood dried and spattered on my sneakers, what would she do? I’d come here to see her, to help her, but now that I was here, I somehow knew that I would make it worse for her if I revealed myself. She was already dealing with so much that being confronted by the guy who broke her heart probably wouldn’t help.

While I was still wrestling with what to do, a blur of blonde breezed through the crowd. Ellie’s eyes twitched; her lips parted, then pulled into a small, sad smile, and the blonde girl crashed into her at practically full speed.

I sighed, my hope for any kind of reconciliation fading as Stacey stroked Ellie’s hair, just as I had wanted to do, and comforted her with an embrace. I’d never been jealous of a girl until now.

I turned, scowling down at the floor, and slinked out of the airport, heading back to my car before I could be seen.

CHAPTER 5

ELLIE

THE BAGGAGE CLAIM area of JFK airport was a hive of activity. People buzzed around me, pushing their carts, talking to each other about where was the optimal place to stand so they could make a quick grab for their luggage. They chatted excitedly about their vacation plans, where they were supposed to meet their transfer buses; they laughed, smiled, carried on as normal. I was numb to it all, wondering silently how these people didn’t know I was screaming inside, breaking, grieving so badly that it felt like a hole had been punched directly through my chest. Surely it was etched as clearly on my face as it was on my heart?

I moved slowly through the crowds, checking my phone every few seconds. I’d turned off airplane mode as soon as I was off the plane, but it was taking a while to find a network to connect to—too used to being on UK networks for the last couple of years. It was still searching for a signal when I stopped next to the designated conveyor belt for my flight.

After a minute or so, the quintessentially British family who had sat behind me on the eight-hour flight squeezed into the gap next to me. Their little girl, who was probably no older than six, was whining about how she was tired, how she was bored, asking and asking how much longer it was going to be before they could start their holiday. Her voice, getting louder and louder by the second, was making my head throb.

On the plane she’d been excitable, babbling about what she wanted to do and see first in New York, speculating about their hotel, how warm their pool would be. She’d sat nicely for hours on end, watching in-flight movies, laughing at whatever she was engrossed in. Now, though, it seemed her patience had worn thin, and she wanted out of the airport immediately.

I glanced down at her, not really seeing her. I hadn’t been able to focus on much since the phone call fourteen hours ago, the one that ripped my life apart and threw me into a spiral of grief, loss, and guilt. I was on autopilot, going through the motions: show passport, collect ticket, sit on plane, get off, show passport, collect baggage—I was still on that part.

“Sorry, she’s a little overexcited. And she didn’t manage to get any sleep on the plane, so it’s been a long day.”

I dragged my gaze up from the little girl, who was now being distracted by her mother with a packet of candy, and met her dad’s eyes as he smiled at me apologetically. Graham, his name was; I knew this from the plane.

I couldn’t quite summon a smile but tried anyway. “It’s fine, don’t apologize.” My voice came out as a mumble as I watched the little girl reach out and take her dad’s hand. My chest squeezed at the small gesture, the bond between father and daughter. Something I would never have again. I wrenched my gaze away from them—this perfectly cute little family of three, the girl and her dad—as memories of trips, plane rides, hand holding surfaced in my mind. Seeing it hurt, and I wanted to turn to him and tell him not to let her take it for granted, to treasure every second because you never know when it could be taken away from you.

I didn’t, though. I held my tongue, instead busying myself by jabbing at the screen of my phone, willing it to connect so I could see if there was any news from my grandmother. Before I’d boarded the plane in London, my mother’s condition had been stable. She had come out of surgery with no complications and had been admitted to recovery. Then I had to turn my phone to airplane mode, so I hadn’t heard anything else. A lot could have happened in those eight extremely long hours. I just prayed she was still there, still fighting, because I wasn’t sure how I would cope if I lost them both.

Just as luggage started to appear on the conveyor belt, the mockingjay whistle from The Hunger Games sounded from my phone, alerting me of a new message. It had finally connected to a network. A couple of texts came at once, and I held my breath as I unlocked my screen, punching in my passcode to awaken it.

Two messages: one from my best friend, Stacey, the other from Toby. I sighed, more than a little relieved that there was no message from my nana. No news was good news, wasn’t that how the saying went? No message meant that my mother was still with us, recovering from her operation. At least, I hoped that’s what it meant.

I opened Stacey’s message first: I’m on my way! Late as usual. Stuck in traffic. Be there in a few xxx

I smiled, remembering my least favorite trait of hers—her inability to ever be on time for anything. In a weird way, I’d even missed that about her. I’d called her before I boarded, asking if she could pick me up from the airport. I knew I’d need to see a friendly face after hours of being on my own during the flight. Stacey had agreed at once, as I’d known she would. I could barely wait to see her; it had been way too long.

I didn’t bother to reply; she was driving and would be here soon anyway. I opened the message from Toby: I love you. Text me when you land and call when you can xx

A lump formed in my throat at his short but sweet message. Toby had been amazing since I heard the news. He’d stepped in and taken control, soothing me, settling me, and even making me a cup of tea for the shock—a Brit’s answer to everything. He’d called my nana back, getting the full story of what had happened because I still couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. Then he’d booked the first available flight out to New York, and he’d even packed my clothes for me. I wasn’t sure what I would have done without him.

Unfortunately, though, he hadn’t been able to come with me. At least, not straightaway. He had his kids staying over, and their mother was on holiday so he couldn’t send them back early. Plus, he had the pub to run, and that would take a couple of days to get covered even if he hadn’t had the kids over. He’d tried to persuade me to wait a few days before leaving so that I wouldn’t have to make the trip alone, but I hadn’t been able to wait. I needed to get there. I needed to see my sister, hold her, cry with her, and tell her everything was going to be fine.

As I read his message again, a wave of loneliness hit me, causing my stomach to clench and my skin to goose-bump even though it wasn’t particularly cold in the terminal. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my arms around my torso, hugging myself tightly as I watched the cases pass me slowly, none of them mine.

When mine finally came around, I struggled to lift it, the weight and movement of it catching me off guard, and Graham, the dad from the family next to me, had to grab it for me and hoist it off the belt and onto the floor.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, still fighting my loneliness.

The little girl’s mother frowned, her eyes narrowing in concern as she reached out and placed a hand on my elbow. “You okay, honey? You look a little pale. You feelin’ all right?”

I tried to smile but my mouth just wasn’t cooperating. Instead,

I gave a small nod. “I’m fine. Just tired,” I lied. “Have a nice vacation.” Without another word, I turned and followed the crowd of people who already had their cases, heading through the nothing to declare exit and finally stepping out into the arrivals lounge.

After a quick glance around at the people milling there, holding name cards or flowers, at the one lady with her welcome home banner, I noted that Stacey wasn’t among the crowd, so I stepped to the side, leaning against the wall as I sent a quick reply to Toby, telling him I’d arrived safely and would call him later.

I tried to keep my eyes down, focused on the floor, not wanting to see the hugs and kisses that were sure to accompany the squeals of delight when people met up with their relatives and loved ones. But I lost the battle and looked around, watching as they walked into each other’s arms, smiled, laughed, embraced. A stab of jealousy hit me when I saw a guy in a full dress suit walk out of the exit and straight into the waiting arms of the lady with the homemade welcome home banner. The family that had sat behind me walked out too, the little girl happier now as she perched upon the luggage while her dad wheeled the cart along. I ground my teeth, glancing around again, silently hoping Stacey had appeared in the last few moments. I didn’t want to stand here alone anymore. As if my hopes had been answered, she darted through the door, her lithe, athletic body dodging around people as she mumbled “Excuse me” to them.